“Won’t you stay for just a little bit? I’m tired but I need to tell you something. I know I won’t have the nerve to tell you later.”
“Okay. I’ll stay for a short time.” He looked around the room for a chair. Of course there wasn’t one.
Jenny patted the bed. “Do you want to sit?”
“No thanks.”
“Please? It’s making me dizzy looking up at you like this.”
“All right.” He sat on the very edge of the mattress as far as he could from that exposed breast. To further remove temptation, he pointed at her chest. “Your top.”
“Yeah. It’s new. Do you like it? It’s a very bright color. I don’t usually—“
“No, I mean it’s a little…needs to be fixed.”
“Oh.” She glanced down and quickly made an adjustment. A soft pink stained her cheeks. “My goodness. You weren’t lying. Better?”
No. “Yes. Thanks.”
“Anyway. I wanted to tell you something.” She rolled over onto her stomach.
“Yes, you said that.”
“You’re probably going to think I’m crazy,” she said, picking lint off the soft blanket. “But I swear I’m telling you the truth.”
“I would never think you’re crazy.”
“We’ll see about that. Um…I don’t know how to say this.”
“Just spit it out,” he suggested, noting how nervous she appeared. Her gaze was fixed on the blanket she was practically picking apart.
“Okay. It’s about Monica and me. You remember when you asked me about the time at your house?”
“Yes.” He wondered where she was going with this.
“Well, you were right. It was me. I was there.”
Ah ha! I knew it. I wasn’t going crazy. “How? Was she wearing some kind of wire?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that. I was her. I mean, I was the one at your house that night. You were talking to me.”
Huh? “Oh?”
She looked up, her watery, bloodshot eyes searching his face. “I don’t blame you for not believing me. It’s pretty much impossible.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“I’ll go back to the beginning. Do you remember my question about wishing on stars? We were at the cider mill.”
“I remember that night with Monica, yes.”
“That was me then too. I asked that question for a reason. One Monday night a while back I made a wish on a falling star…or a meteor…or something. Anyway, the next morning I woke up in Monica’s bed.”
That sounds…kinky…but what does it have to do with anything? “Really?” he asked, not able to disguise the doubt in his voice.
“Yep. I swear it’s the truth. I don’t know how it happened. I’ve always been jealous of her. Of her fancy cars and rich boyfriend and what I thought was her sheltered life. I thought she had it so much better than me and I envied her. Anyway, somehow some fairy godmother or pissed-off god or someone switched us by magic and I was her and she was me for a while. Kinda like that Freaky Friday movie. Did you see that by any chance?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I was wondering how they were switched, thought it might shed some light on how it happened to me.”
“You think it was your fairy godmother?” he asked, recalling his earlier conversation with her girlfriend, in particular the part about the green spacemen.
She chuckled. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. Absolutely not. I believe in fairy godmothers too.”
Her smile was broad. Her eyes sparkled, despite the dilated blood vessels making them look blood-red. She rolled over onto her back and settled her head on a pillow. Her hair fanned out around her face like liquid mahogany. Her eyelids fell to halfway cover her eyes. “You do?”
“Sure.” Despite the almost excruciating urge to curl up with her in that bed, he drew the covers up over her and stood. “Thanks for explaining. Now how about going to sleep?”
Still on her back, she raised herself on her elbows. “Are you humoring me?”
“Absolutely…not. Go to sleep. I’ll see myself out.”
“But doesn’t this mean anything to you?” She sat up. He swore her eyes were sloshing around in her head like an ice cube in a stirred glass of water. She’d feel like heck tomorrow morning. He wished he could be here to take care of her, give her some aspirin, an ice pack for her pounding head.
“Sure.” He patted her knee.
She caught his wrist with one hand and held her head with the other. “Yikes. Can’t move too fast right now. Stop moving so I can focus, would ya?”
He remained motionless for a moment.
“That’s better. Thanks. Now I can ask you, don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?” She tipped her head and looked up at him with round eyes. Her expression was so serious, so innocent. Her lips were soft, glistening wet, tempting. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss her.
He needed to leave. “Yes. I understand. It was you. Now, lay down. You need to get some sleep.”
She gave his wrist a sharp yank. “But I was the one eating the ice cream and talking about babies and farms and marriage and all that other stuff. So I need to know…which one is it?” He gaze searched his face and he could read the desperation in it.
“Which one what?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be but unable to face it.
“Which one of us do you love, Jason? Monica or me? I need to know.”
Jason couldn’t answer her question. Not at the moment. There were too many peoples’ hearts at stake. Too many lives potentially shattered. He had to think things through. He had to do what was right for everyone. That did not involve a hasty answer to a drunk woman’s desperate question. Yet, he couldn’t hurt her feelings either.
A quick retreat was his best bet. Maybe her friend was right and she had a crazy imagination. Maybe she didn’t know what she was saying.
Like a chicken, something he never prided in being, he headed for the door. “Jenny, get some rest and we’ll talk about it later.”
“Promise?” she said behind him as he made his getaway.
“Promise,” he answered, hoping by morning she would have forgotten all about it. Or better yet, come to her senses.
There was no such thing as fairy godmothers. And wishes—even made by lonely little boys on falling stars or on extra-special, limited edition coins thrown in wishing wells—didn’t come true.
He had indisputable proof of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Jenny saw neither hide nor hair of Jason throughout November and half of December. Monica didn’t send her on any more excursions to check out banquet halls and he didn’t make an appearance at her wedding shower.
She guessed whatever had happened the night she’d gotten tanked, both Monica and Jason had decided she shouldn’t be near him any longer, or vice versa. She was almost glad she didn’t remember what she’d said or done—she tended to get amnesia from imbibing too much. From the aftermath, she guessed it had probably been pretty darn stupid.
Tonight, as she did her hair for the annual company Christmas party, she tried to convince herself she’d have a good time. Again, she would probably be the only one there without a significant other, but it was becoming tradition. Why change it now? Besides, who would dance with Mr. Kaufmann’s aged father? In his nineties and still going strong, the man could dance the night away with the best of them.
She made sure she had a dress she could move in without exposing anything important and heels that wouldn’t make her lame in fifteen minutes then headed out to the car. She’d briefly considered sharing a ride with Lori and her boyfriend but quickly dismissed that idea as downright stupid. The last thing she needed to be tonight was a third wheel.
Tiny snowflakes, glittering like diamond chips, were falling from the sky, coating her car, the grass and the road in a thin layer of white dust. Not bothering to brush it off the windshield, she put the gaily decorated pa
ckage she carried in the backseat, then got in her car, started it and flipped on the heat and the wipers.
Bone-chilling air blasted her in the face, doing nothing to melt the snow that coated the windshield. Luckily, it was light, versus the thick heavy snow that came later in the winter and accumulated by the foot. The wipers did the trick, whisking away the thin layer in one swoop. She didn’t wait for the heat to warm up before she put the car into gear and drove to the banquet hall where the party was being held.
“I’ll eat, dance a few with old man Kaufmann then head home,” she told herself, dreading the evening and wishing it was over before it began. At every turn, she considered going back home and forgetting the whole thing, but the fifteen-dollar ticket tucked safely in her clutch kept her from actually going through with it.
Money was money. She rarely spent so much on a night out. Also, she knew Lori would not let her get away with pulling a no-show. She’d call every minute until Jenny answered the phone and agreed to come. Friends could be real pain in the you-know-what sometimes.
By the time she pulled into the parking lot, she was prepared to make her entrance. She parked, sucked in a long breath to try to wash away the last bits of regret for showing up, and walked inside.
The first face she saw was the last one she’d expected—Jason’s. He was standing smack-dab in the center of the foyer, looking toward the door. Monica was nowhere to be seen but had to be there somewhere too, perhaps the ladies room. Neither had been expected to show up. In all the years Jenny had worked at the Kaufman agency Monica had never attended the Christmas party.
Why did she have to pick this year to break with tradition?
When her gaze locked with Jason’s, Jenny felt her face heat up. Desire washed away the dread and she felt herself being drawn across the room toward him, as if pulled by an invisible rope. To stop herself, she gripped the closest stationary thing she could find, the door handle, and hung on, hoping the temptation to throw herself at his feet and beg for a hug would pass.
Just one little hug. That would be enough to last a while, at least a week…okay maybe not.
Someone outside rapped on the door and she reluctantly released it so they could enter the building.
Forcing a smile, she walked toward Jason and nodded. “Hello, Jason. It’s good to see you again.”
“Hi, Jenny. You too.”
As she continued past him, she forced herself to look straight ahead, toward the room at the opposite end of the hallway and the sign sitting on the easel that read, “Kaufmann”. She felt his gaze on her back, whisper-soft and warm, like a caress.
She sighed. “Well, if that wasn’t awkward!” she murmured to herself. This night was going to be even worse than she’d thought. Even more reason to eat and make an early escape—and above all avoid alcohol.
She saw the usual characters as she paused just inside the door and scoped out the scene. The people who rarely saw each other during the normal workweek chattered with each other like old friends. Mr. Kaufmann junior was sitting at the bar, tilting a little to the left already, nudged by a few brandies, she guessed. His father was on the dance floor, practicing his moves to the mood music playing on the speakers. The DJ wouldn’t start playing the dance music until after dinner, but the elder Mr. Kaufmann was always anxious to get his groove thang loosened up early. For that, he needed a partner. Jenny knew her goose would be cooked the minute he saw her, so she tried a stealth maneuver toward the closest seat, at a round table about ten feet from the door.
Right away she spied a familiar purse sitting on the chair. This was not the ideal table to sit at. She glanced up to see if the dancing man had spied her yet.
Nope. But his gaze was headed in her general direction. If she dared try for another table, he’d see her for sure. She was not about to get out there and dance to orchestrated 1980s tunes in front of the entire office…again.
She hunched over a little and headed to the next chair she could find with no purse or napkin signifying possession by some roaming individual and sat in it. Determined to make this temporary and find another seat as soon as possible but suffering a throat as dry as the Mojave, she tucked the wrapped gift for her Secret Santa under the table and reached for the metal pitcher of ice water.
“Over here, honey,” she heard Monica say.
Jenny’s mild case of dread developed into a severe one. She guzzled the water, which seemed to miss the dry spot in the back of her throat as she swallowed and frantically searched the room for another empty seat.
Maybe dancing to the elevator-music version of Like a Virgin wasn’t such a bad thing.
Monica sat beside her and smiled. “Jenny! I’m so glad you made it. And I’m glad you decided to sit with us. You remember Jason.” She pointed over her shoulder at a red-faced Jason who was standing behind her, playing the gentleman by pushing in her chair for her. The huge rock on her left ring finger glittered in the light from the table’s centerpiece candle as she pointed. Even after all this time Jenny couldn’t help noticing it.
“Yes, I remember. We bumped into each other out in the lobby when I first came in,” Jenny said, trying hard not to stare at his handsome face. Was it possible he’d gotten better-looking since she’d last seen him? Her heart ached as memories of moments shared alone with him buzzed through her mind. “I was surprised…to see you came this year. This has to be the first time, isn’t it?”
Jason took his seat on the other side of Monica, too far away yet not far enough.
“Yes. I usually avoid these kinds of gatherings like the plague. But every year I hear all the stories about this party and regret not coming, so this year I decided no matter what I’d have to come. Have you had a drink yet?” Monica asked, stirring a tall glass of something with a swizzle stick that looked like a candy cane. “I can send Jason to the bar for you.”
“Maybe later. What’re you having?” Jenny asked, eyeing the glass with suspicion. “That’s not your usual water with lemon.”
“Long Island Iced Tea. I’ve heard they’re fabulous.” Monica took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Whoo. Strong.”
“More like lethal,” Jenny summed up as she tried to get a glimpse at Jason. He seemed to be hiding behind Monica.
Monica took a second drink. “Well, I wanted to have something a little stronger than the usual since tonight’s a special night. You know, we’ll be getting married exactly three weeks from tomorrow. I never thought I’d say this but I can’t wait.”
Jenny merely nodded. “I know.”
Monica turned her head toward Jason. “What’s wrong, honey? You’re mighty quiet tonight.”
Jason whispered something in Monica’s ear then excused himself and left the table.
Monica turned toward Jenny again and shrugged. “Says he’s not feeling well. Poor baby.” She took several long swallows of her drink then set it down. “It’s probably jet lag again. He’s been traveling a lot lately.”
“That must be hard on you too.”
“No, not really,” Monica answered, coolly. “I’ve never been the dependent, clingy type. In fact, I like a little space. It’s good for a relationship.”
Jason returned a minute later, smiled at both Jenny and Monica and sat. Either Jenny had been imagining his dark mood or something had made it do a sudden one-eighty. He looked downright chipper. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So, what are you ladies talking about?”
“Men, of course,” Monica answered. “That’s what all women love to talk about. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them, as they say.”
He chuckled. “I should’ve guessed. So, what did I do this time?”
Monica patted his knee. “Nothing, sweetheart. At least nothing bad.”
That last part made Jenny feel a little ill. She did not want to know about their sex life—correction, any more about their sex life than she already knew. She knew enough as it was. She recalled the chasing game and the look on Jason’s face the night of t
he hayride.
Then she felt a little sicker.
“Are you okay, Jenny? You don’t look so good,” Monica said.
“I’m feeling a little under the weather. Must be all those last-minute wedding plans I’ve been taking care of,” Jenny suggested, adding, “since someone’s hoity-toity wedding planner decided to pick up shop and move…out of the country.”
“That’s not my fault.” Monica crossed her arms over her chest and grimaced. “Who would’ve thought she’d lie about Oprah, for God’s sake? I thought that was illegal.” Her frown changed suddenly into a smile. “Thank God you’ve really come in to save the day. I owe you so much, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”
“Maybe you can introduce me to your brother-in-law someday,” Jenny suggested.
Monica scowled. “My brother-in-law? I didn’t know I had one of those. Honey, you have a brother?” She looked at Jason.
Jenny looked at Jason.
Jason looked at Jenny with very wide eyes and visibly swallowed. “Sure, I told you the night of the hayride. You remember that, don’t you? You must have told Jenny, or she’s a private investigator,” he joked. He smiled and winked but the alarm Jenny had seen was still plain on his face.
Had he just realized she was the one who’d been with him that night?
“Sure,” Jenny said, making certain to keep her voice light and her tone joking. “That’s it. I moonlight as a private investigator. And since I was so concerned for Monica’s welfare, I did a little bit of snooping, Mr. Foxx.”
Monica looked convinced. “How handy. What did you find out?”
“Oh, the usual things. He pays his taxes,” Jenny said, looking at Jason. Should she say more? Gauging by his intense stare, she was sure she had his captivated attention. But what would she gain from it? So what if he knew it was her that night? He was happy with the Monica he had now. They’d switched back some time ago. Since then, they’d become engaged and planned a wedding. He clearly wasn’t having any doubts about which woman he loved, at least not anymore.
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